Therapy
by SironaFlett .o.x.o
Summary: Right, we all know how House received his famous limp... But what happened after his operations? How was he treated? Burning questions that I tried to answer. Slight Huddy but nothing too drastic. Please R&R as this is my first real fanfic! Thanx!
1. Chapter 1

Gregory House tried stepping forward, his balance unsteady as he kept a tight grip of the bars on either side of him. Stacy watched from behind the glass, twisting her tiny cross between her fingertips. The physiotherapist, Andy, stayed a little in front of House with a kind expression on his face.

"You're doing great," He said.

House looked up at him. "Don't patronize me," He muttered sourly. "I'm doing crappy, and you know it."

Andy sighed. "I'm not patronizing you, Greg, you're doing brilliantly. Try taking another step."

House looked up and saw Stacy looking back at him. Gingerly, he tried putting his right leg forward. He shook for a moment then fell, holding on to the bars. The physiotherapist grabbed a bottle of pills and placed a tiny vicodin in House's palm. House stared at it for a moment.

"No drugs," He said softly.

"They'll help you. It's okay, doses are monitored."

House weighed the pill in his hand for another moment, then realised that the pain in his leg was unbearable. He tipped it into his mouth and drank some water.

"Let's try again," Andy said, placing his hands under House's arms and helping him stand up straight. "Visualise the healing."

"Don't start with that crap," House said. "Or I won't come back."

"Greg, it is important that you see yourself walking again."

"I can do that at home." He snapped. He looked up at Stacy. "Close those blinds."

…

Wilson saw Stacy at the end of the corridor. Ignoring the file in his hand, he went up to see her. She was staring blankly through the window at House trying desperately to walk.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

Stacy shook her head.

"He's going to be in pain, that's for certain, but don't blame yourself," He said.

"I'm not blaming myself," Stacy snapped. "I know I made the right choice. It's just, he blames me."

"He's trying to shove everyone out of his life. He thinks that if he can't do the rehab, then he'll be a disappointment. And how can you be a disappointment if nobody cares about you?" Wilson said. "I've seen it in cancer patients."

"But he hasn't got cancer," She replied.

"I know, but it's basically the same process. House is trying to let you go in the nicest way possible."

"Why are you here anyway?" Stacy asked.

"I'm here for a consult, and I knew House would be here today." Wilson replied. "Are you okay?" He repeated

"We had a fight," Stacy said. "…This morning, before coming in. And it was about nothing."

"You guys never fight, and when you do it's usually about something," Wilson said, confused.

Andy, House's physiotherapist saw Wilson and Stacy looking in. House gave him a nod and he quickly closed the blinds. Stacy sighed and sat down on one of the hospital chairs.

"It was about nothing," She repeated. "We had a fight about what time we should set our alarms at, to wake up."

Wilson frowned. "You had a fight about that?"

Stacy nodded. "He's pushing me out of his life."

"He's testing you. He wants to see if you really do love him."

"Well it's a stupid way of doing it." She said. "He knows I love him."

"Yeah, he knows, he just doesn't believe it."

"What an ass," Stacy muttered.

"You lived with him for nearly 5 years, you should know."

"You've known him longer." She replied.

"Only a little," Wilson replied, he folded his arms, sighing gently. "Cuddy is offering him a job as a departmental head of diagnostic medicine."

"He'd like that," Stacy whispered.

"I know, that's why I asked her for it." The oncologist said. "She owes me a favour."

Stacy looked up at him, her eyes filled with blotchy tears. "Thank you, James."

Wilson nodded. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and hugged her. Timidly, she hugged back.


	2. Chapter 2

Stacy slowly wheeled House out of the elevator. His face set and his blue eyes piercing. Once at the doors, he held out his hand and grabbed the crutches from one of the nurses.

"Greg, I don't think that's a great idea." Stacy said.

"Let me try," He muttered. He held the crutches under his arms and tried standing up. Wilson was behind him suddenly in almost a protective manner. Carefully, House leaned on the metal and attempted to stand firmly. Stacy watched, terrified. House moved forward, just a baby step. There was a crippling sharp pain that shot through his entire right side and he staggered slightly. Stacy moved forward in vain to try and catch him. House, as determined as ever, took another step. It didn't work and he collapsed onto the floor.

"Ouch," He said, sounding pissed off. Wilson sighed and helped his friend up back into the chair.

"You'll get there, one day." He said.

"Don't patronize me," House spat. "I know I'll get there, I don't need the stupid encouragement."

"Greg, he's just trying to help you." Stacy said.

"I don't need any help," House shouted.

Stacy backed off for a moment. Fury flared up on her face.

"Fine," She said. "Fine," She picked up her purse from the back of House's wheelchair. "If you don't need any help then fine, you're not getting any."

She turned on her heel and marched away from him. House looked away.

Wilson stood there speechless. "Do you need somewhere to stay for the night?" He asked, nodding toward the descending sun just behind the glass.

House looked up at his friend. "Will your Bonnie mind?"

"I'm sure she'll be okay." Wilson replied, nodding.

"She hates me."

"True, but you can't hate the crippled."

"I'm talking about Stacy." House replied.

"She doesn't hate you." Wilson said, wheeling his friend from the hospital and into the car park. "She's worried about you,"

"She's right to leave me."

"Stacy is not going to leave you." Wilson opened the car door. "Do you need help?"

House looked up at Wilson, his face confronted into a strange snarl. "It was my right leg, not everything from the waist down." He slid from the chair and into the passenger's seat. His right leg dangled from the car. Wincing, he placed his hand under it and pulled it in.

"I'm going to phone Bonnie," Wilson said as he put the wheelchair into the back seat. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

House nodded. Wilson closed the door softly and strolled back to the hospital. House leaned back against the chair. His hand closed around the small pill bottle in his pocket. He sighed and banged his head. He let go of the bottle. His hand wrapped itself around the pill bottle again. Steadily he opened the bottle and pulled out a tiny pill. He swallowed it dry and leaned back; it tasted bitter in his mouth. But he weighed the taste against the agony he was in.

Wilson returned in few minutes. "She said it's okay as long as you don't eat all the ice cream from the fridge."

"Is she ovulating?" House asked.

"How do you- No, in fact, I don't want to know." Wilson replied, starting the car. "Did you take something?"

"An aspirin," House replied. "I had a headache."

"In your leg,"

"No, in my lymphatic system," House said, rolling his eyes.

Wilson reversed out of the parking space and began to drive away from the hospital.

"Be careful not to get addicted," Wilson warned.

"That's exactly why I had an aneurysm that clotted. I just wanted to get high." House said.

"I see it all the time. I'm just worried about you." The oncologist replied.

"Don't be, everyone has their problems, mine are mine and yours are yours." House clicked on the radio. Biting his lip he switched it off again. "Thank you, for this." He said.

Wilson took a double take. "Did you just thank me?"

"Don't make me say it again." House grunted.

"I'm just shocked. I've never heard you show appreciation for anything." He replied. "Was that difficult for you to say?"

House nodded. "I had my fingers crossed."

"No, you didn't."

"Fine, I had my toes crossed."

"No one can cross their toes."

"Tell that to all the hookers who make it sexy."

"You're a pig."

"And you, my friend, are poop."

Wilson frowned. "I don't understand."

"Pigs, though generally thought unclean, are actually the most hygienic in the animal kingdom. It's the poop that is dirty, though useful."

"You're comparing me to animal faeces?"

"You compared me to a pig. I only thought it was right to return a compliment."

"Poop, is not a compliment."

"Poop can do wonderful things. In medicine it can give us a diagnosis, in the animal kingdom it marks territory, and tribes in Africa would use poop and mud to build their humble homes."

"You're full of crap."

"So are you," House retorted. "Until we need to go to the potty."

"You're an adult House; please use better words than 'potty' and 'poop'."

"But I like watching your face contort into a disgusted way when I say those words." House sighed and looked out the window, his hand gently resting on his leg. "Do you think I'll ever be able to walk again?" He asked quietly.

"House-"

"You wanted me to grow up, so here we are, having a grown up conversation." House replied. "Just answer the damn question."

Wilson sighed as he took a left. "With proper visits to therapy and a correct amount of concentration and pain management-"

"Don't feed me the same crap as every other doctor," He said. "Just be honest with me."

Wilson bit his lip. Slowly, he shook his head.

House sighed and looked back out the window.

"The damage was too great. If we caught it earlier, maybe, but we didn't."

"Will I need a cane?"

"Probably,"

House sighed. "I don't want to be a cripple." He said, solemnly.

"Nobody wants to be a cripple. We don't pick the things that happen to us." Wilson replied. He stopped at the lights. "You never said, what did you see, when you died?"

"I wasn't-"

"Technically, you died, for a brief minute." He said. "What did you see?"

House thought for a long time then he shook his head. "Nothing, it was just black."

"Liar," Wilson said turning another bend as the lights changed.

House smiled, bitterly. "Everybody lies,"

"So you keep saying." Wilson turned back on the radio.

"You listen to crap," House said, changing the station.

"It's good crap,"

"Does Bonnie like it?"

"Of course she does,"

"There you go then," House said. "She likes it therefore you like it."

"If you're unhappy about the station, fine change it, but don't start with your theories of relationships."

"You're lucky you're not Stacy, she gets an earful." House said.

"Really?" Wilson said acting surprised. "I never knew that."

"She tells you?"

"Oh yeah,"

"Damn,"

They stayed silent for the rest of the journey up-state to Wilson's house. He got out and prepared the wheelchair for his friend. Bonnie observed from the door. Wilson opened the door and House lowered himself onto the chair. Snow was beginning to fall, gentle flakes landing on House's lap. Wilson wheeled his friend onto the kerb and locked his car door behind him. Then Wilson wheeled the chair up the steps that led into his home. With every step, there was a painful jolt in House's leg.

"Sorry," Wilson said.

"It's okay," House muttered, holding his leg. Once inside, Bonnie locked the door.

"You'll be staying in the downstairs guestroom." She said. "I'm so sorry about what happened."

House frowned, observing her body language. "No you're not," He said. "You just think that's the kind word to say. You actually think that I got what I deserve."

"When you put it like that," Bonnie said. "I welcomed you into my home, I can just as easily ask James to put you back out on the street where you belong."

House looked away. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Apology accepted," Bonnie said. She pushed House through to the tiny guestroom. "Do you want to phone Stacy?"

"No," House replied. "She'll be too pissed to pick up. I'll call her tomorrow."

Bonnie nodded. "Okay then. There is a spare shirt for you in the morning,"

House nodded.

"Give us a shout if you need anything," Wilson added.

"Don't worry, I will." House replied. He wheeled himself into the room and yanked himself onto the bed. Bonnie smiled softly, and then kissed Wilson.

"I'm going upstairs." She said softly. Wilson kissed back.

"Okay," He said.

House watched envious at their perfect relationship. Bonnie smiled at him again and went upstairs. Wilson lingered at the doorway.

"Need help?" He asked.

"No," House replied, taking off his shoes. He pulled off his suit jacket and un-ironed shirt then pulled the blanket over his torso. "Go to bed, go to your wife."

Wilson nodded. "Night, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."


	3. Chapter 3

House was restless. The room Wilson had so kindly provided was strange and uncomfortable to him. The burning pain in his leg, however, was also another misery he had to deal with. He tried tossing and turning, but that didn't work when he realised that his broken self couldn't tolerate this much movement.

It was curious not having Stacy beside him. He stared at the empty space on the bed knowing that it would be the side she slept on if she was with him.

He couldn't blame her. She was doing what she thought was right. She was metaphorically speaking doing a 'HOUSE'. He rolled onto his left side, the pressure subsided and the pain was slightly relieved.

He watched the digital clock tick away. Minutes passed. He got bored of trying to clear his head, so he began to translate every conversation he had that day into Japanese.

After about twenty minutes of doing so, he began to list various diseases that could cause neck pain. He got up to the letter F, then realised that he had not had a wink of sleep. Now it was too late, it was almost seven-thirty. Wilson would be getting up soon. He rolled over to his back and closed his eyes.

What felt like thirty seconds later, he opened them again. Hoping that everything up till that moment was a dream, he swung his legs over the bed and stood up. He stood there for a while, grinning with some approval. He shifted some weight to his right leg.

Pain shot through him like cold ice. He gasped suddenly, but out of curiosity, he took a ginger step forward.

Bad idea.

He toppled forward and banged his head heavily on the floor. Screwing up his eyes, he desperately sought out another idea. Anything to stop himself from calling Wilson. He grabbed his jacket from the floor with his left foot and kicked it up to his hands. Effortlessly he caught it and began to rummage around for the vicodin. He pulled the bottle out and tipped one pill in his hand. He swallowed it dry and rubbed his head, checking for any bleeding or bumps. There was a little blood, not enough for stitches, but so much so that he would need to stick a band-aid on it.

Sighing, he leapt onto his left leg, keeping the right firmly elevated so that it wouldn't cause him to fall and kill himself. He lowered himself slowly onto the wheelchair and sighed.

There were footsteps. The footfall matched one of which wore patent leather shoes and since there was no heel click, he only had to assume Wilson.

Wilson gently pushed open the door. He looked shocked to see that House was already up and tying his shoelaces.

"Sleep well?" He asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

House looked up. "Yes," He said calmly.

"So… why are you up so early?"

"My leg hurt." House replied.

"Oh," Wilson said.

House pressed his hand against his forehead. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"To call Stacy?"

"No, to call the hooker I owe, tell her that she can come over tonight and have a threesome with me and your wife."

Wilson sighed. "Fancy a coffee?" He asked as he handed the cord free phone to House.

House shook his head. "I'm fine," He looked up. "Do you still have those crutches?"

The oncologist nodded. "They're in the trunk."

House bit his lip. "Get them for me, would you?"

"House, you can barely stand-"

"I can balance on my left leg," House replied. "I need to move, I need to…" He punched the wooden chest of drawers in frustration. "Just, get them for me."

Wilson nodded. "I'll be back in a minute."

House stared at the phone in his hand. He dialled a number and pressed it against his ear, his hand resting on his forehead. The phone went straight to the answering machine. Stacy's voice rang out and then there was a small beep to leave a message.

"Stacy, its Greg, just calling to let you know, I'm at Wilson's. You probably know, I mean where else was I going to stay the night?" House said. "Just call me, when you get this message. I love you, bye."

He hung up. Wilson was leaning on the doorframe with the crutches in his hands staring at House.

"She wasn't there?" He asked.

"Went straight to the answering machine," House replied. Wilson looked at his friend thoughtfully then he held out the crutches. House took them and stood up. He placed them firmly beneath his arms and limped forward, keeping his right leg out of the way. Wilson watched, fascinated.

"Come on," House said. "Work,"

"You are not going to work," Wilson replied. "Rehab, remember?"

"Kind of hard to forget," House muttered under his breath. "Just, drive me home."

"Okay," Wilson picked up House's wheelchair and folded it up. House watched and followed his friend out to the car. He stood for a minute on the top step, deducting a way to limp down.

"Greg,"

House turned to see Stacy standing on the sidewalk looking as beautiful as ever. She hadn't slept, dark shadows under her eyes.

"Why didn't you call?" She asked.

"I just did," House replied.

She slapped him across the arm. "You insufferable bastard! I stayed up the entire night waiting for a call."

"You walked out on me!" House snapped. "You should have called."

She slapped his arm again. He smelled nicotine on her fingers. She had smoked before coming around. She had probably been smoking all night. Addiction is a terrible thing, House thought bitterly. She looked away, biting her lip.

"You look like crap," She said softly, looking back at him. "C'mon, let's get you home." She took one of the crutches from House and he slowly limped down the steps. Wilson watched as Stacy helped House into the car. She turned to his friend.

"Thanks for calling me," She muttered.

"No problem," Wilson replied. "I didn't think he would call you. You should have been informed."

Stacy sighed and looked back at House who was sitting in the passenger seat playing with the heating switches.

"Home life sucks?" Wilson guessed.

Stacy nodded. "Worse than I could imagine. Greg is frustrated. In turn, that makes me frustrated and in the end, we just take it out on each other."

"He's going to find out about the cigarettes." Wilson said.

"I know." She replied. "But they're helping me cope."

"Addiction is not a solution. You need to talk to House. Tell him, not to rush the therapy."

"I'm scared to talk. He gets so angry. I know he would never hurt me, but he can be so cruel sometimes with what he says or doesn't say."

"I'm sorry I can't be anymore helpful," Wilson said.

"Anyway," Stacy said. "Thanks for looking after him."


	4. Chapter 4

Stacy wheeled House into their home.

"Thank you," He muttered.

She said nothing, but put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He touched it for a moment and then kissed it softly. Stacy let him do so. Then, she realised that his face was wet.

"Greg, sweetie, are you crying?"

House shook his head. "No, I just…" He let his voice trail off. Stacy kneeled down to look into House's beautiful blue eyes. He looked up at her. "I can't hold you, I can't… I want to be there for you but, I can't…"

"It'll get better," Stacy said. "Don't rush it; you'll get there in the end."

"Is that what Wilson told you? Because Wilson's an oncologist, he doesn't work with cripples."

"Maybe, you won't be a cripple," Stacy said. "If you do the therapy, go to group and exercise, maybe then-"

"No, Stacy," House replied. "I can't…"

"Greg… I love you. And we're going to get through this."

"Don't you understand?" House cried. "I can't give you what you want. I can't give you what you need. Maybe you're better off without me."

"Greg, you give me more than anyone. I love you. And I'm not going to leave you."

"You should."

"Oh shut with the stupid self pity!" Stacy said, standing up. "I love you! Isn't that enough?"

"For most people, no," He replied.

"Oh grow up, you melodramatic old fool!" She snapped. "If you can't recognise love when it is right in front of you, maybe you do deserve to be alone." She checked her watch and snatched her purse. "I need to go to work."

House wheeled himself to the window and stared out, watching Stacy get into the car and drive off. He saw her light a cigarette. Her fourth today. He must be making life a misery for her.

He felt his face; he needed a good shave and perhaps a shower. With a sigh, he realised he could no longer have showers. He would have to have baths. Slowly, he wheeled himself through to the bathroom. The bath would need to be significantly lowered so that he could climb in and out without breaking his neck. He hadn't taken a bath since he was nine. He always had showers. He looked at the tub for a long time. Then, he decided against it. It wasn't worth the risk. He could go another few days without washing. Stacy would have to help him. That was if she wasn't too pissed off. He wheeled himself back through to the front room. His crutches were leaning against the settee.

With some determination to walk again, House grabbed them and tried to stand up. The best way was to keep his right leg hovering, he knew he couldn't walk like that forever. Nevertheless, he limped forward and grinned with some satisfaction.

But the slow realization hit him. This was as good as it would get. Stacy wasn't here to help him, to feed his ego. He frowned and sat down.

There was nothing on TV. Nothing on the radio. He sighed and picked up the phone. Staring at the tiny keypad, he began to dial a number.

"_Hello,"_ Answered a kind, thoughtful voice.

"Hey mom." House said.

"_Greg! How wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How is Stacy? Oh did you get Aunt Sarah's Christmas package? I told her that you didn't like Christmas all that much… She didn't listen. She never does." _

House smiled. "I got the package. It was nice of her. She didn't need to." He sighed and leaned back rubbing his leg. "Did Stacy call you?"

"_Sweetie, I haven't heard from you since March," _She paused. _"Greg, dear, what's wrong?"_

"I had some leg pain," House replied. "I went to hospital. They told me it was a simple ache. But after four days, I was admitted. I had an aneurysm that clotted. It led to an infarction. And in the end muscle death."

"_Um…. Honey, I don't really understand…"_

"They preformed a bypass… Surgery. There was a lot of pain, so I was induced into a coma to sleep through it. Stacy took on the medical proxy and I was given another surgery."

"_I still don't understand… You're okay now though, aren't you?" _She asked.

House bit his lip. "My right leg is now crippled… It hurts to walk without some sort of aid."

"_Does that mean, you're going to be disabled for the rest of your life?" _She sounded worried.

"Seems that way," House said. "I just thought you should know. Listen, I have rehab to go to."

"_Is Stacy taking care of you?"_

"Yes, I really have to go. I love you."

"_I love you too Greg…"_

House hung up and leaned back on the seat. He disconnected the phone and curled up into a ball in which he could disappear forever.


	5. Chapter 5

Wilson opened the door of the tobacco shop to see his best friend looking over the wooden canes on sale. The store clerk was becoming increasingly annoyed at House deliberately _not_ making up his mind.

"You paged me?" Wilson asked pissed.

House looked around. "I need your help."

"Choosing a cane? You pulled me out of a meeting for that? House you have at least 12 months of rehab to go through!"

The clerk's eyes widened.

"Not that kinda rehab!" House snapped. He looked back at Wilson. "I'm not going back to therapy."

Wilson frowned.

"House, you need the rehab-"

"I don't need patronizing doctor wannabes telling me what a great job I'm doing. I get enough of that from Stacy." He sighed. "I like that one." He said gesturing to the slender, dark brown one at the back. "But I don't think that it'll handle my weight if I lean into it too much."

"Why don't you buy your cane at a medical supply shop?" Wilson asked.

"Because they have crappy medical ones," House replied simply.

His friend sighed and picked up a cane from the side. It wasn't as thick as the others but looked fairly sturdy. House took it from him and leaned against it.

"Gotta take it for a walk House," Wilson said. "Just like shoes."

House blinked and took a step forward, anchoring his right leg to the cane.

"That's not the proper way to use it," The Clerk stated.

House walked forwards then turned back to the pimple-faced boy.

"Like it's going to end the world if I walk like this," He said. He looked up at Wilson. "I like it. How much?"

"Thirty-eight dollars," The Clerk said.

House pulled his wallet from his back pocket and drew out the green cash. The clerk took it eagerly and cashed it in the till.

"You can keep them," House said indicating the crutches he had left leaning on the counter. He turned and limped out of the shop. Wilson sighed, smiled and grabbed the crutches. He followed his friend out to the car.

"I though I told him he could keep them." House complained.

"I think they should stick with the cripple." Wilson replied.

"I have a cane!"

"Which you can barely use without falling over!"

"I'll get used to it,"

"House-"

"Not listening!" House replied limping off down the street to the book shop. Wilson flung the crutches into the boot of his car and ran after House (which didn't take long for him to catch up on.)

"House, have you spoken to Stacy?"

"Not since this morning. And technically it wasn't speaking… More groaning… But I do that to women anyway what can I say? It's a mystery how I do it."

"Have you spoken to her about the rehab?"

House shook his head entering the bookstore. "She doesn't need to know."

"Yes she does," Wilson complained.

"I'm not telling her." He replied, picking up an old book from the sale basket. "She doesn't know about the vicodin, she doesn't need to know about me-quitting-the-rehab."

"She wants to help you."

"I know," House sighed and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. "I just want to lead a relatively normal life."

"You are anything but normal." Wilson replied. "You're insane."

"So was Einstein." He muttered. "What do you think about Joseph Bell? I heard he taught Conan Doyle."

"He did," Wilson took the book from him and slung it back in the sale box. "House, please…"

"I just want to be happy. And apart of this fabled happiness is having a normal life." He looked at his friend. "I think I hate Stacy."

"No, you don't." Wilson replied following his friend through the aisles of books stacked higher and higher. "You think you hate her because of the surgery. But you know as well as I, that if it was any other patient you would have the same thing done to them. You are mad at her because she did something you would do. And that scares you. Because that means you're having a subtle affect on her. You're changing who she is."

"People don't change,"

"House, people change all the time. But if you don't believe that then it releases you from the burden of needing to change."

"Enough with the psycho-babble!" House cried. "I get enough of that from my mother!"

Wilson frowned. "You called your mother?"

House looked away and picked out a book from the shelf. Wilson took it away from him.

"You're avoiding the question. Did you call your mother?"

House nodded.

"Why? I thought you hated your mother!"

"I don't hate my mother," House replied limping to another aisle. "I hate _him_."

"You hate your father?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Never mentioned this,"

"Really, because I'm certain I did." House gripped at the new cane, trying to keep his balance. Wilson leaned forward to grab his friend under the arm to support him. House slapped him away. "I called my mom, to tell her what happened to me."

"Does your dad know?"

"She's probably told him by now." House picked up another book and flicked through the pages. He stopped at one and read the top line. He began to laugh hysterically. Wilson grew frustrated and grabbed the book from him. "Hey, come on! It's funny!" House sighed. "Fine. Can you drive me home?"

Wilson nodded. "Go to the car, I'm going to get something."

House frowned. "What?"

"A book," Wilson replied. "I'm hoping they have the new Stephen King."

House smiled. "Liar,"

"Gimp," Wilson retorted.


	6. Chapter 6

House unlocked the door and stepped inside. He threw down the keys and took off his jacket, leaning against the wall for support.

"Greg?"

He looked up. Stacy was sitting on the armchair, her legs tucked under her and a cup of tea in her hands. His parents turned around on the couch to look at their crippled son. His mom stood up and ran over to him, giving him a huge hug. His father lingered behind her. House hugged his mother back, but retracted quickly.

"I thought you had months of rehab therapy to go through before you could start walking." His father said.

House sighed. "I like to walk. It takes my mind off everything."

"But you can't walk. That is the point I'm trying to make."

"Enough, John." Blythe smiled. "Are you okay, Greg?"

House nodded, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a vicodin. He swallowed it dry and limped over to the couch.

"What are you doing here?" He asked heavily.

"Greg, they're worried about you," Stacy said.

"Well there's no need to be," He replied.

"We caught the first flight we could to get here," John said, sounding pissed. "You can at least feel a little grateful."

House said nothing. Instead he rubbed his aching leg. "I'm fine," He said. "You can go home."

Blythe sat beside him and kissed his head. "I'm just worried about you."

"We both are," His dad said.

House looked at his father, knowing that only a small percent of that was true. He bit his lip, not saying anything. He slowly tapped his cane on the wooden floor. Sighing he placed it to the side of the couch.

"Does it hurt?" Stacy asked.

"Enough!" House cried, flailing his hands in the air. "I'm fine! Can we please talk about anything but me?"

John sat back on the chair. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything!" House stood up and took a step forward, forgetting that he had to use his cane. His entire right leg buckled under the weight and he toppled over. He grabbed his leg and swore angrily under his breath. Stacy and his mom rushed to his side in an instant. He waved them off, sitting back down.

"Well that was stupid," His father said, disapprovingly.

"John," His mom snapped.

"Mom, it's okay." House leaned back on the cushion. He closed his eyes. "Why don't you guys go back to the hotel? We don't have a spare bedroom. I was just thinking of going to bed early anyway."

Stacy bit her lip, knowing House, this was a lie. He never went to bed without three or four bourbons and that was usually after midnight.

"Are you telling us we travelled on a six hour flight, just to be sent back again?" His dad asked.

House looked at his father. "No," He said, finally. "You can come back tomorrow."

His mother smiled weakly and kissed him softly. "Okay," She said. "Come on John. Let's leave them be."

He nodded and grabbed his jacket as if he was eager to leave. House let his mom run her fingers through his hair tenderly. She hugged him. He closed his eyes and pretended just for a moment that his leg was not killing him. That he was in either Egypt or Japan and his father wasn't present.

She sighed and got up. Stacy walked them to the door and said goodbye. When they got to the car, she turned and closed the door.

"Gregory Jonathan House, you are the biggest idiot I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" She shouted, letting her fury go.

House stood up and limped to the kitchen to find a drink. He knew things were bad when people started using his full name.

"Your parents fly straight here to find out if your okay and you _push them away_?" She asked. "They care about you!"

"I don't care if they care," House replied, pouring some orange juice from a carton into a tall glass. "They are my parents, or at least one of them is. They are hard coded to care. Even if their kids turn out to be social killers," He took a long gulp.

"You're pushing everyone who cares away!" She shrieked. "Wilson, your parents… Am I next?"

House sighed, but didn't answer.

"Greg!" She cried.

He slammed the glass against the marble worktop. "What do you want me to say?" He asked. "I could say yes, but that would give you a better reason to leave. If I say no, I make you feel guilty for accusing me and you stay and become even more miserable."

"I'm not miserable!" She argued.

"Yeah right," House replied. "And the fact that you haven't worn make-up in three days means nothing."

"Of course it means nothing,"

"No, it means you just don't care anymore. You've given up." House said, anger building up in his voice. He looked at her with those blue eyes that Stacy had fallen in love with almost five years ago. "If you're going to leave me, just go."

"I'm not leaving you!" She shouted.

"You should!" He shouted back. "I've ruined your life!"

"Don't give me the stupid self-pity!" Stacy yelled. "It doesn't suit you!"

"Alright then!" House shouted. "You ruined my life!"

Stacy stared wide-eyed at him. Her mouth twisted into untamed fury.

"I saved your life!"

"Are you a doctor?" He bellowed. "No, you're not! Stop pretending that you knew what you were doing."

"I hate you," Stacy said. "You are an arrogant, self-centred, pompous jerk." She looked away for a moment.

House stared at her. He had heard her say these things before but she used to say them… Almost as if she liked those qualities.

She looked back at him.

"I wish I had never fallen in love with you."

This tore House's heart like a knife. He said nothing, but could feel himself choke on stupid emotions. He stared into the sink, watching the remaining dregs clog the drain.

"Then leave," He said, looking back up at her. "You can walk away from this," He gestured to his cane that he held in his right hand. "I obviously can't."

"I can't leave you," Stacy said, realizing the truth. She looked up teary eyed at the man she loved. "Even if I hated you. It wouldn't be fair. I have to be here, to help you."

House looked away. "I'm going to bed." He limped forward and down the hall into the room. Stacy stood stunned at her own stupidity and heartlessness. She sighed and sat down.


	7. Chapter 7

Wilson rolled over and grabbed the phone from his bedside cabinet. It was nearly three in the morning. He blinked miserably as he looked at the caller ID, then he rubbed his eyes and answered.

"House, you do realize that I need some sort of beauty sleep, even if you don't." He grumbled. He frowned as he heard his friends' laboured breathing. "House? Are you okay?"

There was a faint noise. It sounded like a ripping emotion. But House hadn't shown emotions not in the last twenty years that Wilson had known him.

"House?" Wilson tried again.

He didn't reply.

Wilson burrowed his face. "House," He tried. "What's wrong?"

"… She left me…" House moaned. It tore through Wilson like a knife. "… Stacy left… Me…"

Wilson sat up. Stacy had said that she would leave. He didn't actually know she _meant _it. "She left you? What happened did you have a fight?"

"…My leg hurts…"

There was a long pause. Wilson sighed. "Listen, take some vicodin. I'll be around in a few minutes."

"Thank you." House said. Then he hung up.

Wilson lay back down on his pillow breathing hollowly for a few minutes, wishing he didn't have to leave his warm bed. He closed his eyes, sighed and got up. He pulled on a pair of creased jeans and a blue shirt. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto his face. He stared at Bonnie and kissed her forehead, leaving a note beside the bed to let her know where he was if he wasn't back when she woke up. He slipped on his shoes and his large winter coat.

Wilson was at House's in under twenty minutes, he decided that the short-cutting the lights when no one was around wasn't really a federal offence. He pulled up against the apartment and got out of the car. The night wind nipped at his fingers. He wrapped his knuckles against the wood.

He stood there shivering for a few minutes. He checked his watch. He knocked again and waited a few more.

House wasn't answering. Wilson sighed and made his way down the steps back to his car. The door swung open and House was standing, leaning on his cane.

"You've got to wait more that five minutes for a cripple to answer the door." He said solemnly.

Wilson looked up at his friend. His blue eyes were encircled with dark shadows. His entire body shook madly. Maybe because of the cold or maybe because… Maybe, House was actually showing a human emotion. Wilson ran up the steps and grabbed House's shoulders to stop his friend from toppling over.

"… She left me…" He moaned, his voice crackling.

Wilson didn't know how to react. Slowly he led House inside to the apartment and watched as his friend limped to the lumpy couch. He closed the door. Most of Stacy's stuff was still there.

"Are you okay?" Wilson asked.

"The only woman I've ever love has just left me, my leg is killing me and you want to know if I'm doing dandy?" House turned to look at him.

Wilson sighed. At least his sarcasm was unaffected. He sat beside the grumpy doctor.

"What do you want me to do?" He asked.

"I don't know." House replied, heavily.

"Then why did you call me?"

"I don't know!" House cried standing up, grabbing his cane and hobbling along the wooden floor as if he wanted to pace. "I just… I just…" He sighed and looked at Wilson. "I knew that if I continued to be a jerk then she would leave me. I saw the bag under the bed. I noticed that her make-up was packed away and her cross… She didn't even bother taking it off…"

"You watched her leave?" Wilson asked, leaning forward.

"Pretended I was asleep. She pretended she was asleep when I went to bed." House bit his lip. "Did she say anything to you?"

Wilson contemplated his answer. "No," He said.

House looked at his friend. Then nodded. Wilson frowned. What happened to everybody lies? Did House know he was lying? Wilson considered this. Of course House knew. He was just choosing to believe the lie.

He sat down on the less comfortable chair, tapping his cane on the floor in silent frustration.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Wilson asked.

House looked at his friend. He sighed. "We were arguing… About physiotherapy, about mom and dad coming to see me-"

"Your parents came to see you?"

"Don't interrupt."

"Sorry,"

"Anyway… I got angry and I…" He stared at Wilson.

"What?" He asked. "You hit her?"

House shook his head.

"She hit you?" Wilson tried.

House shook his head. He pressed his forehead against the cane. "I told her, that I didn't love her anymore. I told her, that I hated her and that she destroyed my life…"

"You told her that?" Wilson asked.

"I didn't mean…" He sighed. He looked up at Wilson. "You gotta believe me… I didn't want her to leave… I just… I can't cope without her…" His eyes watered slightly. Wilson said nothing but went through to the kitchen and got a tissue. He also filled a tall glass with water and returned to House with both items.

"I'm not going to cry," He muttered, taking the tissue anyway.

"'Course not," Wilson replied. "You're emotionally stunted at 17; a nice, rough shag would set you straight or bend you like a slinky, I'm not sure anymore."

House stared at the tissue curled in his hand. "I haven't felt this way since Oma died." He muttered.

"Oma?"

"Dutch grandma,"

"You called her Oma?"

"Dutch for Grandmother," House said. "It hurt too much to accept."

"So, you blocked out all your emotions?" Wilson asked. "That was stupid."

"I was never much the emotional type anyway. Oma's death just pushed me over the edge." House rubbed his unshaven face. "I don't think she's coming back…" He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a white pill. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed. He looked down at Wilson...

"Well, it's a medical fact that the been-dead-for-twenty-years don't come back to life." Wilson said.

"I'm going to die alone." He whispered.

"If you continue to push out every single person you meet, then yes," Wilson said. "You will die alone."

"You've been through this," House said. "How did you cope?"

Wilson sighed and sat down opposite his friend. He clasped his hands. "I didn't. I didn't want you to see me so… Y'know?"

"No, I don't." He replied. "Stacy was the only one I've ever really loved."

"Really?"

House nodded sadly. "Really," He leaned back on his chair. "What should I do?"

Wilson sighed. "I don't know. I can't tell you what to do because we handle things in our own way. And I'm tired of being your damn conscious."

"I never asked you to be."

"I know, but you need someone to be a Jiminy Cricket around you."

"Suits you well, Jiminy,"

"Jeers, Pinocchio," Wilson grinned. "Can I go home now?"

House nodded. "If you want. I'd walk you to the door but…" He held up his cane and gestured to his leg.

"Night, House,"

"Night, Wilson,"


	8. Chapter 8

Wilson walked his friend through the corridors. His arrogant, godly pace now slowed so that House could walk beside him in equal measure. He was here for another consult with Dr. Peters. Patient confidentiality prevented House from finding out why Wilson was here so often. But patient confidentiality hadn't stopped House from snooping around and finding out that Dr. Peters had a large tumour pressing on his ocular nerve. Cuddy's chief oncologist was dying of cancer and surgery was too dangerous. The irony made House smirk.

"Are you going to thank Cuddy?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head. "What is there to thank? That she has an incredible cleavage? I could thank her, but it's really gods work."

"House," Wilson sighed.

House paused for a moment, throwing his milkshake in the bin. "I'll try, but chances of her listening are slim."

"You mean chances of it being meaningful are slim," Wilson said.

"The only slim part of Cuddy is the part between either breast," House said. A nurse shot him a dirty look as she passed by with a six year old boy. "Yeah, you heard me. Boobs!" House shouted after her.

"House," Wilson said. "Do you mind not scaring everyone that passes by?" He looked at his friend.

"Sorry," House muttered, scratching his forehead absentmindedly with his thumb. "I just…"

"Thinking about Stacy?" Wilson asked.

"What? No!" House cried. "I'm thinking about all the demeaning things I want to do to your wife."

They reached the office. Wilson opened the door for House.

"Don't you have work to do?" He asked.

"Don't you?" Wilson replied.

"You don't work at this hospital, why are you here so much?" House replied. "Besides I can't work without a team."

"Cuddy has hired a provisional team while you get around to choosing your own." Wilson looked down at the note he was carrying. "And dammit, they won't be here for another three months because you're supposed to be in rehab."

"Excellent," House sat down behind the desk and put his left foot up on the worktop. Sighing, he reached under his right leg and hoisted it over the other one, wincing in pain. "Time to talk,"

"About what?"

"Anything, what's on your mind? Why are you in Princeton so much?"

"You care?"

"Nope, but that's what friends talk about isn't it?"

"House, I'm not sure this can even be classed as a friendship." Wilson sighed and turned. "I have a lot of work to do." He began to leave. "I'll see you next week. Or if you call me in the middle of the night wanting me to come around and watch re-runs of General hospital."

House watched his friend leave. Then with shaking hands he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the tiny bottle of pills. He lifted the lid and slid one onto the desk in front of him. He stared at it for a long moment. He picked it up, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Sighing, he swallowed it and made a grab for the bottle of water beside the computer. There was nothing fascinating to do. Being a doctor you would think there would be heart attacks left right and centre. Not that House could do much about a heart attack, because he couldn't stand on his own two feet without falling over.

He sat there thinking for a long while. Finally, he grabbed his cane and limped out of his office to the elevator.

He stared sadly at a nurse walking to the stairs.

It was the small things that House really missed, the things that healthy people took for-granted. Like the ability to walk up and down the stairs without pain or getting to the top without having to catch their breath. He also missed the fact that he couldn't walk and hold two cups of coffee, or walking down the corridor without reaching the end in crippling agony.

He got into the elevator and pressed down.

There was nothing to do, except the things he really hated doing.

The elevator doors blew open and House limped into the clinic.

"11:48am," He said to the nurse behind the station. "Doctor Gregory House checks in, please write that down."

"I thought you'd be watching monster trucks or your stupid daytime soaps." Cuddy said, appearing behind him, a chart in her hands.

"I'm not that shallow," He replied. "I love to help people."

Cuddy looked at House, and sighed. "If you are going to stay here, then fine but be at least a little bit human."

House nodded.

"Are you okay?" Cuddy asked.

House nodded. "Super,"

"I heard about Stacy," She said, touching his arm. "It's good that you're feeling emotion, it proves that you are a human being."

"I'm fine," House replied, smiling inanely. "Gotta go, sick people."

Cuddy smiled and watched him limp off into exam room one. She then leaned over to the nurse. "Is there anyone actually in there with him?"

The nurse checked the charts, frowned then shook her head.

"Great," Cuddy said.


	9. Chapter 9

House entered his apartment. Her items were in cardboard boxes, stacked high on top of each other. He saw her in the bedroom, pulling out her clothes. She looked around to see him staring at her intently.

"Hey Greg," She said sadly. "I thought you wouldn't be here till later."

He nodded.

"I'm just here to get my things, and then I'm going to go." She said. She looked up at him. "How are you?" She asked.

House said nothing; he limped back into the front room and sat on the sofa. She followed him.

"Greg," She said. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" House asked quietly. "'It's great to see you! How are you? By the way, I'm so lonely I hire a different hooker every night, just to get over you.'"

"Now I know the last bit could be true." She said, sitting down beside him. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay here with you."

He looked at her. She sighed.

"You're like… You're like a drug." She said. "A really addictive drug, and you latch on and control and I enjoy it." She looked away. "But after a while, I've realized that, you are not healthy to be around. You spread misery and hate … I can't be in a relationship where you blame me for everything that went wrong with your leg."

"Nice metaphor." House grunted.

"Been around you long enough to do them properly." She replied.

"Get out," House muttered.

"What?" She asked.

"Get out," He repeated a little louder. "Come back tomorrow, when I'm at work. If you're here tomorrow when I get back from the hospital…"

"You'll do what?" She asked. "Shout? Yell? Hit me? Those are scary threats, but I'm pretty sure I can outrun you." She smiled.

House said nothing. His face solemn and as still as marble. She looked at him, then her eyes widened.

"Oh, Greg, I'm so sorry…" She cried, touching his arm. "I forgot you're still adjusting to this… That was so insensitive!"

"Get out," House repeated, his voice getting louder each time he said it. "Get out, get out, get out. Get the fuck out of my home!" He shouted.

She jumped. He stood up limped to the table where her purse was lying. "GET OUT!" He bellowed, throwing it at her. She stared at him, never before seeing him angry. Mean, yes, but never angry. A tiny tear trickled down her cheek. House threw the purse at her.

"GET OUT!" He roared.

She clutched her purse and ran out crying. House slammed the door behind her and banged his head against the wood. He screwed up his eyes and let out a long moan. He dropped to the floor, and pulled his arms around his one good leg. He sank his face into his shirt, tears pouring from his crystal blue eyes.

The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the crippling agony in his heart. It felt broken… He looked at the tears on his hand. The wet reminded him of everything he ever lost. He hadn't cried like this since… Ever…

His hand sealed around the vicodin bottle in his pocket. His one lifeline. The only thing keeping him going, keeping him from the pain, keeping him from remembering the crappy moments and even the good ones. He grabbed the letter opener from the table and stared at it thoughtfully

There was no one left.

Parents hated him not because he was a selfish jerk, but because he was now a miserable crippled lonely fool. Wilson hated him because… Well, why would you ever become friends with a disappointing idiot to begin with? And Stacy… He couldn't blame her… She only thought that she was doing him a good deed. And there was no one left.

No one wanted him.

No one needed him.

And would anyone really miss him if he took his own life, right here, right now? He had the pills in his hand. Just enough for suicide…

He popped open the bottle and tipped out all the pills on the floor. He picked one up rolling it between his fingers. He stared at it. It was a Friday… No one would come looking for him until Monday morning. Wilson might come around to take back his stereo, but that wouldn't be till…

House sighed and squeezed at the handle of the letter opener. This was it… This was where everything ended. He couldn't deny that he had chances others never could have had. And now… All those chances… They were meaningless.

The phone began to ring. Three silent bells then the answering machine kicked in. House couldn't concentrate on the angry words the person on the other end was spitting. The letter opener still in his hand.

"_House," _An agitated voice sounded. _"Pick up the goddamn phone. Stacy just called me in a flood of tears. What the hell is going on? House? I know you're there. Pick up, or I'm coming around."_

Wilson waited a few minutes, sighed then said in an angry tone. _"Fine, fine, crawl in a hole and die you pathetic emotionless man!"_

Then he hung up. House smiled bitterly to himself. He knew his best friend wouldn't be able to stand by and let House do anything stupid. By time Wilson got here, he'd be in full blown cardiac arrest, nothing for his best friend to do but order a tall enough coffin. He swallowed the pill trapped between his fingers. He picked up the second pill and swallowed it. The taste was acidic, he winced at it. He swallowed another one. Biting back tears, he swallowed a fourth… He tossed the letter opener between his fingers. Maybe… Just maybe…

…

Wilson knocked angrily on House's door.

"Open up!" He shouted.

No answer.

"You're such a child." Wilson sighed. He knocked on the door opposite to House's apartment. A grumpy cigarette smoking women opened the door, wearing nothing but an oversized white t-shirt.

"What?" She asked.

"The man, opposite you, do you know if he went out?" Wilson asked.

She blew her cigarette smoke into his face, he coughed and waved it away. "Nope, he was shouting and screaming at someone about an hour ago. They left, he didn't."

"Thanks." Wilson sighed. "Can you help me open the door?"

"Mr. Smith gave me a spare key." She said, popping her cigarette back in her mouth and reaching a set of keys inside her apartment.

"The landlord?"

She frowned and blew more smoke into his face. "No, Mr Smith," She gestured at House's door then she handed a key to Wilson. Wilson sighed and took the cigarette from her mouth and stamped it on the ground.

"Those things'll kill you," He said.

The woman looked at him with a pissed off expression and slammed the door in his face.

Wilson sighed and put the key in the door and unlocked it. He tried opening it. Something was blocking it.

"House!" He shouted. He pushed with all his might and the thing fell with a nasty thump on the wooden floor. He frowned. That sounded like bone on wood. His eyes widened and he shoved the door open.

House was lying on the floor; an empty bottle of vicodin by his side and a letter opener was buried in his right thigh as if he was trying to stab the pain out. Blood was everywhere. Wilson dropped to his knees and checked House's heartbeat. He held his breath, waiting.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there. Slow and irregular, but it was still there. He grabbed House's phone and called 911. As he held the phone between his chin and shoulder, he propped House's head on his lap, his brilliant blue eyes, rolling into the back of his head.

"Ambulance, 221 Baker Street Princeton New Jersey, apartment B," Wilson shouted down into the receiver. "My friend… I think he took an overdose; he's hurt himself real badly. The femoral artery has been severed, just get here quick!"

"Wilson…" House muttered.

"House?" Wilson shouted, he yanked off his tie and hastily made a tourniquet over House's knee. "Talk to me!" House's blood was soaking at his pant knees.

"I want… I want to die…" House muttered, rolling into unconsciousness.

"House!" Wilson shouted, his hands covered in blood. "House! Keep talking to me!"

House smiled weakly. "No," He breathed.


	10. Chapter 10

_House was running. Not specifically going anywhere, but he relished in the fact that he was running. He stopped for a moment and checked his pulse. It was at least 130, that was good. He smiled to himself and leaned breathed heavily. _

"_Greg," _

_He looked up and saw Stacy smiling at him. She was wearing that dress that she wore when they visited her brother at his Miami Beach house. She hated wearing the damn thing, but when she wore it she looked stunning. _

_House grinned and went up to her. She smiled softly and kissed his cheek. They stood there for a moment, just watching each other breathe. _

_A loud thump sounded in House's ears. He ignored it. _

_Stacy looked up at him. _

_There was another loud thump._

"_I think someone is calling you," She said._

"_Yeah well, tell them that the telephone is a better means of communication." He muttered._

_Stacy laughed. She looked back at him. "You can't stay here." _

"_Why not?" He asked. _

"_Because, you know this isn't real." She replied. "This is something that your subconscious has created so you won't get bored."_

"_Well, tell it that it's supposed to convince me that this is real and it's doing a crappy job."_

_There was anther loud thump. House sighed and nodded. "Alright, I'm coming! Keep your mitts on!" _

…

House blinked. He was in ICU. An IV was hooked up to his left arm. He looked at it thoughtfully. Nice, liquid vicodin. He looked around. Wilson was sitting on one of the chairs with House's cane in his hands. He was tapping it slowly on the floor while watching his best friend's monitor.

"You are the biggest idiot I have ever met," Wilson said agitated.

House smiled and rubbed his forehead. "I appreciate your concern."

Wilson jumped up and threw the cane on the floor.

"You know I can't reach for that," House said.

"This is not concern, House!" Wilson cried. "You purposely tried to kill yourself!"

"It's actually called suicide," House said. "But I guess that works."

"What… W-what the hell were you thinking? If you were thinking at all! You almost gave me a heart attack. And you gave yourself one in the process!" Wilson sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Were you upset?"

"No,"

"Mad?"

"No,"

"Then what? You can only show some emotion if you're going to kill yourself every time you do? I'd hate to be your psychiatrist."

"I don't need a psychiatrist." House muttered.

"No!" Wilson said sarcastically. "Trying to kill yourself is considered the perfect point of mental health."

"It is if you're a cripple."

"Is that what this is about?" Wilson asked. "The miserable fact that you can't run anymore?"

"I can't walk that well either," House replied. "And no, it was about Stacy."

"Makes sense," Wilson said, shrugging as he paced angrily.

House frowned. "How does that make sense?"

"You were half conscious and calling for her." He replied.

"Oh," House leaned back on his pillow.

"House," Wilson said. "Please, tell what was going through your head when you took those damn pills."

House sighed and shook his head. "No," He said.

"Why not?" Wilson asked.

"Because, you'll somehow insinuate yourself and make me feel guilty about making you feel guilty." He replied. "I don't want that."

"House," Wilson tried again.

"Just go," House snapped. "Cuddy will discharge me in a couple of days, and then if I'm feeling all cuddly and open, I might talk to you."

Wilson sighed. "If you keep shutting people out, you're going to die alone." He picked up his jacket and the cane and left it at arms length at the edge of House's bed. He took one last look at his friend and left the ICU.

House watched him leave; knowing that what he said was true. He touched his leg, feeling the bumpy bandages that had been wrapped around it. It was a bloody shoddy job. He'd have to tell Cuddy to fire the stupid intern that did them.

…

Cuddy slid open the ICU doors. She folded her arms and stared at the drugged up House.

"I heard from Wilson what you did to yourself," She said.

House looked at her with a quizzical expression playing on his face.

"Did he also tell you that he is a secret arms dealer working for the USSR? Bringing about communism again, they are and Wilson is helping them." He smiled.

"You took a drug overdose!" Cuddy cried. "And you stabbed yourself almost destroying what little muscle you had left."

"Doesn't sound like me," House frowned.

"House," Cuddy sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. "I know you're hurting, physically and emotionally. But this is no way to handle it. You are in here more times than other patients."

"What do you want me to do? Leave the hospital, offer my services to some witch doctor shack in Africa?" House closed his eyes.

"No," She replied, softly.

"Only because I'm the hospital's biggest asset," House muttered.

"Yeah, well, you're also the hospital's biggest ass." She replied.

"Et," House said. "You forgot the 'et' part." He pouted slightly.

She tugged at a lock of her hair. "House," She said gently. "I need to know that you aren't going to have some sorta suicide attempt every other week. I need to know, your health won't compromise the health of any patients you are willing to treat. I need that promise from you. Otherwise, you can't work here."

House opened his eyes and stared at Cuddy. She looked as beautiful as she did the day they met in med school. If not even more so. Although the top she was wearing made her look more like a prostitute than a dean of medicine.

He nodded slowly.

Cuddy sighed a welcome relief. "That's good to know." She said. "You're office is ready and there is about fifty resumes ready for you to choose a team."

"Am I under pressure to choose in a constricted amount of time?" House asked sheepishly.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "You know what," She said. "Take as much time as you need. That means there is more money for me to spend helping Wilson's cancer kids." She stood up and began to move towards the door.

"Cuddy?" House called after her.

She turned back, hand resting on the glass. "Yes, House?"

He looked at her for a minute deliberating whether he should tell her how nice she looked today. He sighed.

"Fire that intern who did my bandages." He said finally.

She smiled back at him. "Wasn't an intern." She replied.

"Nurse then," House said.

"Wasn't a nurse."

"Surgeon?"

Cuddy shook her head, biting her lip mischievously.

"Who was it then?" House asked.

She pressed her finger against her lips. "Mom's the Word," She said. Then she was gone.

House leaned back on his pillows and smiled to himself.


	11. Chapter 11

House was watching monster trucks. There was nothing odd about that, Wilson observed. Beside him was a bag of uneaten chips. Now this was odd.

Wilson stood outside House's office, watching his friend intently stare at the screen.

Why wasn't he yelling happily as the main monster truck battered its way across the poor cars? House usually yelled. But today, no, he was silent, playing with his bottom lip. There was no beer in his hand and there was nothing to suggest that House was fine.

Cuddy walked by, stopped, and then turned to Wilson. He looked at her.

"Either, he is working and I should be shocked or he's doing a striptease." She said. "Go back to the cancer kids."

"They can wait," Wilson said. He pointed at his friend. "I've never seen him like this."

Cuddy looked over at House.

"He's realising what's happened to him," She said.

Wilson looked scared. "Shouldn't he be in a padded cell if he's going to do that?" He asked.

"James," Cuddy said, turning away from the office, Wilson followed. "You're a good friend to him. But he needs to work this out himself. He had for probably the first or last time a real chance at a relationship. And he's blown it. He needs to work it out."

Wilson sighed and put his hands on his hips. "You're right." He said. "Of course you're right. I'm just worried about him. I'm worried what this will do to him."

"He's fine, it's House. He has no emotion on this sort of thing. I mean isn't he the one that says that 'Emotion is for poets and mamma's boys?'" Cuddy handed Wilson a blue file.

"Oh, thanks." Wilson tucked it under his arm. "What if he's not okay?"

"He has his vicodin-" Cuddy started.

"I'm not talking physically. And even if he doesn't show emotion think of the torment that could destroy his mind." Wilson said.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Cuddy asked, throwing her arms up in exasperation.

"I don't know, talk to him."  
"Like he's going to talk me."

"He might,"  
"No, what he'll do is look at me insanely, take out his vicodin, pop a pill and then make a rude comment about my top,"

"It's a start," Wilson said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Fine, but if I can't get through to him, it's your problem." She turned and walked away.

Wilson sighed. He turned around and jumped.

"So what were you guys talking about?" House asked.

How the hell did he get there that quick and that silently? How long was he standing there? Wilson sighed.

"Quick question," House said, leaning heavily on his cane. "You don't work here-"

"It more of a statement,"

"Shut up, I'm not finished yet." House said. "You don't work here, yet you have been here for every day, in the last month. Either Dr Peters has a chance at living or you're worried about me."

"You're too smart for your own good you do know that." Wilson said.

"That wasn't smart. It's across your face. They have creams for that."

…

House stopped outside the rehab facility. Its blinds were open and no one appeared to be using it. House stared at it for a long while. Then he looked down at the wooden cane clutched in his right hand.

He was thinking, that was clear.

He sighed gently, then making sure no one was watching, he clicked open the facility doors.

Once inside, with the blinds shut and the door closed with a large chair propped up behind it to stop people entering. House stopped, contemplating what he was doing.

He slowly pulled off his sports jackets and reached inside one of the pockets. A prescription bottle fell out, almost empty. House shook it slightly and popped it open. The remaining pills sat at the bottom so he tipped them straight into his mouth.

The side effects were almost immediate. He suddenly felt dizzy and sick, but his leg felt better. He threw his cane against the treadmill. He jumped onto it and kick-started it into life, slowly, he began to walk. It was okay for the first few steps but after thirty seconds House thought he was going to scream from the pain.

He stopped walking and sat down against the wall, massaging his thigh.

He felt sick rising to his throat, nauseated he stood up and limped towards the waste bin. He threw up very noisily and stood choking for a moment.

He fell to the ground, panting for air, choking on his own tongue. He spat into the bin and wiped his mouth against his sleeve.

Sweat dripped down his handsome worn face. Screwing up his eyes, he picked himself up.

He wanted to walk.

He wanted to prove that he was good enough, that he could make a difference and not be just a whiny self involved brat. If he could prove that he was capable of managing chronic pain, then he could be a beacon of hope. And maybe just maybe if he could change, _she _might come back.

House hated feeling weak. He hated being the creature that everyone mollycoddled just because he had this part of him. He wanted to be known as just Greg House. Not the disabled doctor that everyone feels sorry for.

He just sat there. Almost reviewing his life.

He never really cared for children, or being a father especially if genetics were anything to go by. But when he met Stacy, he thought maybe that could change; he realised that he was not his father and that he could never be that way. Stacy always wanted a baby girl because she was brought up in a house full of boys. He never cared much for families and PTA meetings and football games. But again, when he met Stacy he thought that could change, maybe he could change.

Those things, that seemed unimportant during his medical training, his military background and most of the years of his life, now they seemed the most desirable things to him now.

He wanted a normal life. Or at least a life that wasn't lonely or that he didn't need to spend every waking moment of his life drugged up to avoid pain.


	12. Chapter 12

"How on gods earth could you loose him? He's a flipping cripple! He can't have gone that far!" Cuddy screeched.

Wilson sighed and rubbed his pinky finger in his ear.

"Shouting, Lisa dear, is never a solid solution," He said calmly.

Cuddy moved around her desk. "I'll solid you," She muttered angrily.

Wilson looked at her. "Was that an invitation?"

"I think I preferred House making the rude comments." She said. She lifted a finger and pointed angrily at him. "You and me are going hunting."

"That's a very British thing to do don't you think?" Wilson asked

"James, enough of your attitude,"

"What attitude?" Wilson cried. "I came in here and I said very calmly, 'Have you seen House?'"

Cuddy looked at him and sighed. "I overreacted didn't I?"

"Just a bit," Wilson said.

She sighed. "I should never have hired him. I can't keep him in line."

Wilson sighed. "I heard you had a position for an oncology department head."

Cuddy looked at him. "You want me to hire you?"

"I am the one person that can keep House in check."

"Please," Cuddy scoffed. "You enable him. I sometimes think that you'll end up proposing to him."

Wilson frowned. "Really?"

"God yeah. It's actually quite amusing." She pulled on a pink suit jacket that matched her skirt. "Now lets go find him before he starts driving a quad bike through my hospital."

Wilson followed Cuddy out of her office.

"You never answered my question." He said.

"About the job?" Cuddy said, hitting the elevator button. "It would be nice having someone that can keep him company."

"Not only that, I can make an exquisite peach cobbler." He said.

"Something tells me that you're holding back on the real reasons." Cuddy said.

Wilson looked at her uncomfortably as they got into the half empty elevator. "I-"

"I don't care," She said, stopping him. "Whatever your reasons, they must be important to you, so…"

She nodded. "Your wife won't mind moving down here?"

"Won't need to move." Wilson shrugged. "It's just another twenty minutes I'll have to spend travelling to and from here."

"Right," Cuddy stepped out of the lift as they reached the first floor. "I'll take this floor. And we'll talk later about the job."

Wilson nodded and let the elevator doors slide shut.

….

Cuddy saw that the blinds to the physiotherapy room were drawn shut. She leaned over and tapped a nurse.

"Excuse me; do you know if Dr Barker has a patient?" She asked.

The nurse checked the schedule. She shook her head. "No, he's not using it until tomorrow."

"Then who's in there?" Cuddy asked.

The nurse shrugged and went back to her work.

Cuddy tried opening the door. It wouldn't budge. She rattled it a few times. Then she checked if it was locked. It wasn't.

She knocked on the door a few times. "House? Are you in there?" She asked.

No answer. She thought long and hard for a moment then suddenly remembered the terrace that connected across the entire third floor. She found an empty office and unlocked the door. Once outside on the terrace, she began working back.

Sure enough, there was a door that would lead her to the physiotherapy room.

Cuddy smiled triumphant at her ingenuity and frankly her own brilliance. She opened the unlocked door and stepped inside.

There was a shape on the floor. Curled up into a ball and shaking uncontrollably.

"Hello?" Cuddy asked. "Who's there?"

She flicked on the light, but the shape quickly retracted, not liking the sudden brightness. She switched it off.

"House?" She asked.

The creature moaned.

Cuddy dropped to her knees and crawled forward. House was lying bundled up, his arms clenched around a waste bin which a rotten smell was coming from.

Cuddy pulled at House's shoulder. He looked at her with his brilliant eyes. His face was drenched in tears.

She drew back. She had never seen House like this. She had never seen him looking so… Vulnerable…

House moaned and sobbed harder, seeing his own reflection in her eyes.

Cuddy pulled at him again. He was suddenly grasping her, almost begging her not to go. Sobbing into her shoulder, Cuddy felt really peculiar.

"Sh…" She whispered, stroking his hair.

"I tried… I couldn't do it… You have to believe me… I wanted to… But the pain..." House sobbed even harder. "I'm pathetic…"

"No. House you're not pathetic," Cuddy said. "Like you said, you tried."

"Dad was right…" House cried. "I am a failure!"  
Cuddy had no idea how to react to that. She continued stroking his hair. "It's okay," She whispered. "I'm here."

"I just thought… I thought if I could walk… she might come back…" House said.

_Stacy. _Of course. This wasn't about his stupid leg. This was about him being alone. Cuddy grimaced, letting him rest on her lap.

This was certainty unusual.

Cuddy had always assumed that House was an unemotional being with no love, compassion, empathy or anything more than cold hard bitchiness. But now she began to realise that maybe House and Stacy had something deeper than mindless animal sex. Maybe Stacy was the reason for House to continue living. And now that she was gone…

Now, Cuddy had House crying. Something, she had never seen him do.

She then realised something. All her feelings when she was in medical school… When she first met him… the feelings had come flooding back. She realised it wasn't just a silly crush… She truly loved him. He may be a rude, obnoxious, son of a bitch ass… But that's what made him so appealing. She loved him.

And of course, she couldn't tell him.

House looked up at her. Without realising they were doing so, they leaned against each other.

Suddenly, they were kissing in a flame of passion and vulnerability. Cuddy, placed her hand gently on his cheek as they kissed.

And inside her, fireworks exploded.


	13. Chapter 13

House's office blinds were drawn shut. This usually meant he was resting. It did not mean he had a hooker with him and he was kinda busy, no matter how many times he insisted it was true.

Wilson stopped outside the door, contemplating whether to go inside and check if his friend was actually there or whether to leave him alone to brood.

Wilson decided on the first course of action. He opened the door and saw House resting on a reclining chair. His eyes were closed and his arms folded. Wilson deduced that he was thinking, not sleeping.

"House?" He asked.

"Go away," House muttered.

"I assume Cuddy found you." Wilson sighed. "Don't scare me like that,"  
House's eyes shot open. "I had no idea you had become so caring mother." He said.

"Where the hell were you?" Wilson asked. "I looked everywhere!"

"I was in the one place I knew you wouldn't look for me." House replied.

Wilson frowned for a moment. "The physiotherapy suite?" He asked. "I thought you were never going back to therapy."

"And I'm not." House replied. "I just wanted to be on my own."

"Of course." Wilson said. "Completely by yourself. You have lipstick on your teeth."

House ran his tongue across his teeth, checking them.

"No I don't," He said.

"Yes, you do." Wilson replied. "What happened? Did you and Cuddy kiss?"

House looked up at his friend. "Why does it interest you so much?" He asked.

"Don't deflect, you did didn't you? " He looked at House. "And what you're embarrassed? You embarrass people, people don't embarrass you. That must mean that you're scared about what it meant… House, did you have sex with her?"

House raised an eyebrow. "Cheap hooker, Wilson. Not Cuddy."

"Will it ever be Cuddy?"

"No,"

"You don't deflect this much."

"I'm I hurting your brilliant powers of detection?"

"Slightly, yes,"

House lifted his bad leg from the foot rest and grabbed his cane. He slowly limped towards his desk and picked up the new prescription bottle of vicodin that rested beside the computer.

"House, what's going on?" Wilson asked, hands on his hips.

House noticed Wilson did this whenever he was frustrated or angry. He found it endlessly amusing so decided not to humor him.

"Nothing," He said, dropping a tiny white pill into his palm. "If there was, I swear you would be the first to know."

There was a timid rap at the glass. House and Wilson turned to see Cuddy standing out in the corridor. House turned and slipped the pill into his mouth. Cuddy opened the door.

"House, can I talk to you?" She asked.

House nodded.

"James, you and I can talk later about you taking Dr Peters post." She continued.

House looked at Wilson.

"You're taking Peters job?" He asked. "Is he even dead yet?"

Cuddy looked at House. "Talk. Now. Me. You. Corridor. No. Christmas. Bonus."

House nodded. "Coming mom,"

He limped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

Cuddy was pacing.

"Last night should probably never happen again." She said. "Have you told anyone?"

House shook his head.

"Really? Not even Wilson?" Cuddy stopped pacing and looked at him.

"Not a word." House replied.

"House, I have never seen you like I saw you last night. I didn't know you could be that vulnerable…" Cuddy started pacing again. "It should never happen again because, you were so… y'know… And I feel as if I was just taking advantage. Unless you want to take it further…" She looked up at him. "House say something."

"It was a kiss, Cuddy. Nothing more. You are acting as if we slept together." House tapped his cane.

"Fine," Cuddy said. "Then we never speak of it again. Agreed?"

House nodded.

"Alright," Cuddy said. She touched his arm gently. He looked at it. "House, last night you proved yourself to be a human being, capable of some level of human intimacy-"

"Yeah about that," House said, shifting his arm, uncomfortable with human contact. "I would appreciate it if you never mentioned that to anyone. The fact was, I was hopped up on vicodin and I could have been butt naked sing the Spanish national anthem. The fact is, I wasn't. Never mention it again and if you do I will make your life unbearably miserable." House turned and walked away.

Cuddy sighed and looked at her hands. They were shaking a little. She bit her lip and re-entered House's office to find Wilson playing with a baseball.

"Did you talk to him about the kiss?" Wilson asked.

She nodded.

"And what did he say?"

"He told me that I could never tell a living soul that he had an ounce of humanity in him. So you're going to have to keep your mouth shut." She said.

"I wasn't going to say anything to him." Wilson said. "House gets slightly touchy when it comes to his emotions."

"I know."

"So it doesn't mean anything?" Wilson asked.

Cuddy shook her head.

"Lisa, you're going to have to confront your feelings for him some day,"

"I know." She said. "Just not this day and time,"

**I had to do a little bit of Huddy. I think they are a great pairing. I hope I didn't make House too much of a sap but I wanted people other than Wilson to know that he was in pain. **

**Sucks doesn't it? **

**Anyway, thanks for reading. Will update as soon as I can be bothered. **

**Love Sirona x**


	14. Chapter 14

House woke up early. Very early.

There was a shooting ache through his entire right leg, excruciatingly painful. He sat up and rubbed it thoughtfully.

He was thinking about her again.

Whenever he thought about her, his leg hurt more than he could handle… More than the stupid vicodin could handle.

He grabbed the tiny pill bottle from underneath his pillow and swallowed a few pills. He sighed and lifted his leg from the bed.

Mornings were the worst. When he woke up and had no one looking back at him. That's when he realized how lonely he was.

He grabbed his cane from the edge of the bed and held onto it tightly. He pushed on it and lifted himself from the mattress. Pacing himself he limped slowly from his empty bedroom.

There were six messages on his answering machine. He didn't bother listening to them. He just deleted them.

House lifted his leg, leaning on the back of his couch. He gritted his teeth, knowing he had to get over it. He had to get into work. Well he didn't want to go to work but it would take his mind off everything.

He looked around his apartment. It reminded him too much of the times he had with Stacy…

_..._

_Stacy rubbed House's shoulders as he rested on the couch. He smiled gently. _

"_Difficult case?" She asked softly. _

_He nodded. "Not quite…" He pulled the case file over, rubbing his head. _

"_Well, I know you'll figure it out," She said._

_House smiled and touched her hand. His eyes looked sad though._

"_Greg, what's wrong?" She asked._

_He frowned. "Nothing," He stood up and moved into the kitchen. Stacy picked up the file and looked at it. _

"_What does this mean?" She asked, pointing to a word._

_House moved behind her, taking a sip of his coffee. _

"_It means different blood clotting times." He said._

"_Is that serious?"_

_House shrugged. "Could be, we're looking into it. It just means that sometimes the patient's blood is too thick..."_

"_Has the patient bled out?" She asked._

_House shook his head. "He's stable; we have him on blood thinners. But his kidneys are failing due to increased __Creatinine."_

_Stacy flung down the file and grabbed House by the face and pressed her lips against his._

"_I love it when you talk all clinical." She whispered as they parted._

_House grinned. He pulled her up and carried her to the bedroom…_

...

House smiled gently as he pulled on the un-ironed shirt. Tears began to roll down his face as he remembered Stacy and everything she did for him. He looked at himself in the tall mirror. He stared at the reflection for a moment. Anger and rage spilled into his veins. _Why did he push her out? Why was he so arrogant enough to not believe that she was trying to save his life?_

He picked up the alarm clock and hurtled it against the glass. There was an almighty crack and the mirror shattered. He stared at the broken reflection, his body shaking with untamed fury.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deeply.

Nothing mattered anymore...


	15. Chapter 15

James Wilson hated taking the bus.

It was a fact of life: buses were cramped, crowded, smelly, overpriced, and were a hold up to traffic. House was right… Again.

Wilson paid the bus driver and moved down the aisle looking for a seat. Every single seat had been taken up by someone's bags or coffee. The bus driver didn't wait until Wilson sat down before he started the bus. He struggled to keep his balance. He saw a spare seat next to someone he recognised.

"Stacy?" He asked.

She looked away from the window. "James? What are you doing on the bus?"

He sat down next to her. "Bonnie is having the car detailed. What about you? I thought you hated the bus."

She smiled. "I didn't want to drive."

"You're on my route?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah," Stacy's fingers twisted around her tiny cross. "I'm meeting up with a friend…"

"This early in the morning?"

Stacy looked at Wilson. She shook her head. "There's this lake that Greg and I used to go by. The one that we fell into on that summer… Do you remember?"

Wilson nodded.

"I just needed to see it again… Don't tell Greg…" She said.

"I heard you got a house in Shorthills?" He asked changing the subject.

Stacy nodded. "I'm living with this guy… Mark. I love him, he's a great guy."

She sighed and looked out the window. Biting her lip, she turned back to Wilson. "How is he?"

Wilson contemplated lying to her. Saying that House was the same old House; cruel, uncaring… His face twitched.

"James," Stacy said, as his silence went on.

He looked back at her. "House…" He stopped. "I don't know what to say to you. I could tell you the truth or I could tell you the bitter lie."

"The truth, James,"

Wilson gulped down a breath. "He's fine. You know House, never lets anything get to him." He lied.

"And his leg?"

Wilson stared at her. "The nerves are not regenerating like we hoped after his operation." He said.

Her bottom lip quivered. "James, please believe, I never wanted to hurt… I thought I was helping."

Wilson nodded. "I know. He's knows that."

Stacy clasped her hand to stop herself from giving a huge sob. Wilson, looking petrified, placed an arm around her.

"I miss him so much…" She cried, quietly. "I love him so much…" She looked up at Wilson. "… I didn't mean to hurt him… to cause him pain…"

"I know," Wilson said. "Stacy, don't beat yourself up. You've moved on… you have this new life. Leave House in the past,"

She looked up at him. "I can't…" She said. "I love him too much… Was I mistaken for leaving him?"

"No," Wilson said quickly. "He was a jerk… You said it yourself, he's like a drug and he sucks the life out of you. You can't live like that."

"Maybe I could…" She said. "James, why are you talking me out of this?"

Wilson considered this for a moment. _Why did he want Stacy to stay away from House? After all, it's what they both wanted… Maybe, he knew that if they got back together, Stacy would end up in misery and House would end up hating her because she could walk. _

"Because," He said, slowly. "House, doesn't want you…"

Stacy stared at him and sobbed harder into his shoulder.

....

_Without thinking, Stacy pushed House into the lake. He resurfaced in minutes and looked up at her. _

"_You're dead," He smiled. He crawled up the bank._

"_No!" Stacy shouted, as House pulled her by her summers dress into the lake. She breathed deeply as her head bounced on the surface of the water. House was grinning ear to ear._

_Stacy splashed him angrily. "Greg House!" She said. "You complete utter-"_

_House stopped her talking mid-sentence, by planting a warm kiss on her lips. They parted and Stacy grinned._

"_- romantic old fool," She breathed._

_House smiled. He kissed her again, placing his hands on her face. They parted again._

"_I love you," She whispered._

_Their noses touched gently. House was still smiling. He looked at her with his beautiful eyes._

"_I love you too," He whispered._


	16. Chapter 16

House limped slowly into the hospital reception, his rucksack over his shoulder and a coffee in his hand. Wilson waited for him at the desk with a steely expression on his face.

House looked at him. "Oh god, you're pissed at me aren't you?"

Wilson folded his arms and shook his head. "No,"

"You're body language tells me otherwise." House said. He held out the coffee for Wilson to hold as he straightened his bag on his shoulder.

"I saw Stacy on the bus to work this morning," Wilson said, uncomfortably.

House looked his friend up and down for a moment.

"What do you want, a medal?" He limped off to the elevator, Wilson following behind him. "You took the bus?" He stepped inside and pressed up. Wilson dodged a few nurses as the doors began to close.

"House, she's moved on, she has a place in Shorthills, a boyfriend called… Martin… Marcus… or something or the other," Wilson said as they ascended up the hospital.

House looked at his friend again, wearing the same non vacant expression.

"You took the bus? Why?" He sighed. "What? You want me to tell you that you're a terrible friend for talking to her? You guys were friends long before we started dating. This isn't kindergarten anymore." House adjusted his weight slightly.

Wilson looked worried. "Are you okay?"

House glared at him. "I'm fine. Look at me. I'm always, fine."

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. House hobbled down the corridor to his office, Wilson following a few steps behind. He was confused at House's reaction.

"So when are you actually getting your office here?" House asked, dropping his bag onto his desk.

Wilson scratched his head. "Next week, I think." He said. "I apparently get the office next to yours."

House gave him a sideways glance. "So you can keep an eye on the big bad man?" He asked in an annoying voice.

"Yes," Wilson replied, not holding back. "House, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," House replied.

"You don't look it,"

House sighed. "Are you going to be annoying all day?"

"House, please," Wilson said. "Talk to me, no one remains on good terms with their exes. Trust me I know."

House said nothing.

"Greg," Wilson said. House looked around; it was always a bad sign when Wilson started calling him by his first name. "Talk to me, I'm here for you,"

"I don't need babysitting, Wilson!" House shouted. "I don't need your obnoxious annoying niceness, it's boring and it gets old!" He slammed his cane down on his desk to show his pent up fury. "I am no different than I was before my leg."

"So, you think you haven't changed?" Wilson said. He put his hands in his pockets. "That's interesting…"

"No, it's not," House muttered angrily. "The world isn't the sun-shining daisy world that you tell your cancer kid's all about. It's a brutal non-changing existence. I couldn't care less about Stacy when there are more important things I have to deal with,"

"I think you do care about her,"

"We're not going argue about this, Wilson." House said. "She was in my life, now she's out of it. And I doubt she will be returning. But, I don't care."

Wilson sighed. "She's moved on from you House. It's about time you did the same."

He sighed then left.

House watched him leave. Then he sat on the chair, his hands shaking with anger. He clenched them tightly, his nails biting into his palms perhaps breaking the skin. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his forehead.

Wilson was right.

Bastard.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

_**And I think I'll finish Therapy there. It was initially supposed to stop after House tried to commit suicide then there be a lead on from Fellows. That's why I have already published two chapters of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, because I am crap at writing especially endings. I hope I got everything American right, cause I'm from Britain and technically speaking we are a lot different to you Americans. I'm not saying we have eleven toes or webbed feet… Although because of the weather here, webbed feet might not be a bad idea…**_

_**Love Megan x**_


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